Lesley Diane Sutherland

Rookie - 0 Points (Chester, England)

The Lover

'Is there some place that can not be explored? '
He enquired as he lazily smiled,
Lifting one soft, stockinged foot to his lips
Feeling quite sure he had her beguiled.
His delicate fingers are well practiced
It's true, and adept at strumming a tune
On the beautiful women that he knew
Who believed what his eyes implied.

Snake's eyes, snake's tongue
Worming his wicked way
Insidiously forcing, overbearing
Determined to win this day.

How can he fail? She looks so frail,
So vulnerable, lovely and fainting,
He's found the lace, the dainties too,
There's absolutely nothing she can do...

He wanders in and takes his place
Aroused by the flushing in her face
The parted lips, the half-closed eyes
The softly, swooning, gasping sighs...

Ah, ladies, how the gothic heros
Enshrined in old romantic stories
Fed our souls, our imaginations
Filled our letters and our diaries,
At what age did you discover
No man's really like that lover;
That black-eyed, throbbing macho-male,
That life is real, and love's a tale?

Submitted: Thursday, January 17, 2008

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Comments about this poem (The Lover by Lesley Diane Sutherland )

  • Rookie Russell Collier (1/23/2008 6:25:00 PM)

    And this one - a madrigal - I wrote to a very dear friend, who remains alas, only a friend, a good friend, but no more than a friend...

    When summer nights were high
    I’ve dreamt of you more nights than I
    admit, those nights when I saw you,
    just you, when summer nights were high;

    those nights when just your smallest sigh
    ignites in me that passion new;
    I’ve dreamt of you more nights than I
    admit, those nights when I saw you,

    and wondering if your passion’d cry
    might tell a tale of you more true
    than I could pry with gaudy lie;
    I’ve dreamt of you more nights than I
    admit, those nights when I saw you,
    just you, when summer nights were high. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Russell Collier (1/23/2008 6:22:00 PM)

    ahem. maybe no man is really like that lover, but some of us come close, in our own way. wrote this one somewhat over a year ago.

    industrial erotic charcoal
    remnants of arsonist's fire
    that scorched my heart with words.
    your bitter touch, you bird
    of flame, awoke desire.

    metallic songs of sex,
    electric blood and heat,
    your cries of lust so sweet,
    strobe through my numb cortex.

    you beautiful phoenix proud,
    your labial, fiery tech
    has rendered my mind a wreck;
    my soul's an ember-cloud.

    erotic charcoal girl
    of subtle haunting scents
    of nighttimes too intense
    the ash of guilt's a-whirl.

    girl of erotic charcoal
    that embers and flame have built
    let go your shame and guilt
    consume me, body and soul. (Report) Reply

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